


Blood-Stained Yet Caring and Supportive

by Twiranux



Series: Bring Your 'A' Team [1]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Angst, Aromantic Character, Asexual Character, Fake AH Crew, Gen, Genderfluid Character, Platonic Relationships, there's one slur in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-04-17 14:47:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4670675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twiranux/pseuds/Twiranux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a night of dread and angst for Jack, moping around the shores of Los Santos to clear up his mind a bit. He doesn't want to be found by the crew. He wishes to just disappear. It's not too long before he is found, though, by one of the best in the city.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood-Stained Yet Caring and Supportive

**Author's Note:**

> Jack is Asexual and Genderfluid, Ryan is Aromantic. There is one transphobic slur in this fic, but neither of them directly say it to each other.

The cool night dragged itself onto the shore, letting itself hang over Los Santos. Clouds swayed to and fro across the sky; the moon faint, the stars fainter. Unmoving sand interrupted by footsteps of an infamous criminal, known through two kinds of light: the most lighthearted out of their ruthless crew, the only one known to be ‘sweet’ and/or ‘too pure’ to be a criminal, or the mocked he-she, creating TMZ-like gossip over their daily outfit choice or pronouns. Either way, Jack never liked being the center of attention, slurs thrown around by both newscasters and his fellow crew members were a consequence in choosing one’s expression different from what’s “normal”. Never thought it would create a world of phobia, but Jack’s used to it by now. Well, as used to it as he can get.

 

Jack huffed as he sat on cool sand, bringing his hand to his beard in dismay.

 

_Actually,  I shouldn’t be out here...We just finished up a heist a few hours ago, the police are still looking out for us...I’m gonna get caught, sent to jail...then they gotta break me out..._

 

Guess the apartment wasn’t melancholy enough to think about life and crime, the water hitting the shore repeatedly was more fitting for Jack’s ordeal. Thoughts zip past by, about the true meaning of gender and how looks are what only matters in the news, whether it be the one to be made fun of being ‘the bearded lady’ or a wanted felon. Maybe the media is responsible for his choices, the constant change in look, the distaste in physical intimacy because people think “ew, a tranny, who would fuck _that_?” It hurt.

 

He looked up into the sky, observing what little stars where to be seen, and the clouds that didn’t bother clearing up; his anxious, trembling hands rubbing at his forearms. For a usually hot beach, it was freezing when the sun wasn’t up, the air coming in from the ocean making it only colder. His grasp only grew tighter as he heard the shuffling of feet. He didn’t look to see who it was, though, willing to accept his fate if it were the police. Jail was just a different place to think about his life.

 

The stranger walked closer, feet heavy, dragging against the shore. He sat next to Jack, who was ready to cry or surrender, or both.

 

“Hey bud, you alright? We were looking everywhere for you,” a reassuring, familiar tone asked, sitting next to his friend. Jack instantly rested his head on the man’s shoulder, weeping. The leather rough and dry against his skin, but he didn’t care. The man pulled him closer, allowing Jack to completely break down into his arms.

 

_Ryan Haywood._

 

He too was going through the same process, a stigma that was uncalled for placed on him like a curse. The supposed “psychopath” of the Fake AH Crew. Hurts a hell ton more when ballsy gossip reporters or what have you, links it to his choice of aromanticism, letting everyone assume that being aromantic equals broken or crazy. The rumours are far from true but even most of the crew go out and feed the media lies.

 

Jack stared at him, black makeup wiped off at some places, the red and white running down his face at others. Blood stained his shirt, yet his infamous jacket was clean. Despite his rugged appearance, Ryan couldn’t look any happier to be right next to Jack.

 

“No, Ryan...I feel like a target in those stupid carnival games that everybody just wants to hit as if they win something for hurting me, making fun of me. I feel broken, disgusting. Look at me, I am just the bearded lady everyone knows me as; I belong in the circus, not a top-tier criminal gang.”

 

“I’m here for you, even if that’s what everybody else thinks. You’re a wonderful person, believe me, not those cocksuckers. No news reporter is gonna override my opinion on you.”

 

Jack sighed, placed both of his hands on his face, wiping away some of the tears. Ryan placed his hand on Jack’s shoulder in reassurance, making sure not to grip too tight nor let it sit there loosely.

 

"How'd you even find me here, Ryan? I could've been anywhere. As far as I know my phone is off, so you can't possibly located me that way, and I didn't leave any clues as to where I was heading to."

 

"Jack, I've known you long enough. You yourself told me the pier is your favorite place to go, and here you are, right next to it. Just had to search both sides."

 

Jack hummed, accepting the explanation, then returned to staring upward into space; Ryan took notice, observing the small expressions. His whole body was shaking, teeth chattering, shoulders trembling. Ryan took off his jacket, and offered it to the poor guy.

 

“No, I-I’m good...” Modesty took over Jack, selflessness taking over his actual needs.

 

“I saw you freezing your ass, come on.”

 

Ryan helped Jack put it on, one sleeve, then the next. Jack blushed as they realized that the jacket couldn’t close the whole way, and Ryan didn’t help by chuckling in response.

 

“Oh yeah, I’m fat as well. Add that to the list of things to make fun of,” Jack mutters, turning away from Ryan, holding together the ends of the jacket.

 

“You look fine. Any warmer at least?”

 

“Yeah...I appreciate it, really…” It gave off quite the complex smell. A tad of sweat, the genuine leather, expensive cologne, a hint of gunpowder and smoke. And Jack loved every inhale of it. Never did he feel more comforted by clothing, and he never expected it to be one of Ryan’s.

 

He remembered the few months he been grasped at strings, wishing he could stop being so romantically attracted to him. Awkward conversations were held, the two separated by the missions given by Geoff...It took a while to get used to the misaligned orientations. He respected Ryan’s aromantic ways wholeheartedly, and he wanted to support him every way possible, and even made Ryan be the first (and wish he was the only) person he came out to as asexual and genderfluid. But in irony, Jack fell for him, the limbo of friendship being the closest he could get. Over time, he eventually settled, accepting himself and Ryan for who they were, and giving more room for their friendship to grow.

 

“Remember the times I had that dumb crush on you, Ryan?”

 

“Oh, you mean when I was totally cool with it but you kept apologizing because you thought you were undermining my existence?”

 

To Ryan, it felt like yesterday. But it wasn’t gloomy or awkward, he took it as an experience. Never had he gotten so close to one of his crew members before, nor had the honor to even be placed in a similar spectrum of identity. Aside all of the times he was called ‘psycho’ and Jack ‘man-lady’, he snickered at the team names the crew made up for them: “The ‘A’ Team”. (A team, how stupid yet representative of both of them.) There was also “Team Same Spectrum” being thrown around when they were all at Geoff’s in the midst of planning. It was a small sliver of time when they actually were accepted, before all the slurs.

 

“I mean, that’s how I felt and all, I’m sorry,” Jack looked down, shifting sand around with his feet.

 

“Don’t add it to your current list of worries. We’re already great friends, bud. No need to ruin that because you made a little mistake in the world of romance.” Jack sighed in response, taking another look at Ryan. They stared at each other in silence, Ryan smirking while Jack played with the zipper of Ryan’s jacket without much thought. There still was an essence of awkwardness between them, with Jack never getting over his aesthetic attraction for Ryan and vice versa.

 

“Do you ever hate me for being the way I am?” Jack huffed, his exhale rough.

 

“You being ace and genderfluid or me being aro is neither of our faults. Look, we’re just put into bad light because people don’t know any better, okay? We stand out, so what? If they’re too problematic, I’ll kill them myself and we can live our lives, goddammit.”

 

Jack brought up his hand, slowly bringing it up to Ryan’s face. It wasn’t any sort of romantic gesture, they both understood and agreed that any sort of usual physical intimacy meant nothing. So, to them, hugging longer than 2 seconds and holding each other’s hands was more about friendship. But of course neither crossed a line, being very wary of each other’s limits. But this wasn’t the case, as Jack traced over a cut he’d never seen before. That skull mask was worn so often, he sometimes completely forgets about Ryan’s hair color and style. Ryan hissed at the touch.

 

“Is this new?” Jack wiped some of the makeup off the surrounding area.

 

“Well...I got in a fight. It was actually a few hours ago.”

 

“With who? What’d you do?”

 

“...Geoff. He told me not to look for you, and that I’m better off just waiting for you to come back. They didn’t show any concern for you, that’s why I got so pissed. So I told him off, and he threw a glass of liquor, probably whiskey, at me, and got me there. I looked back once, and everyone just looked back at me, shocked. I stormed out, and here I am.”

 

Jack raised both his eyebrows and fixed his glasses. He searched in his pockets for anything to clean it up, and found a handkerchief.

 

“This’ll do for now, but you gotta get that patched up as soon as possible. Can’t believe you went out of your way and pissed off Geoff to make me feel better.” Jack rubbed away the makeup and bit of blood, while Ryan resisted wincing at the contact.

 

“Want to go back to my place? You can stay the night. I promise you neither of us are gonna get annoying calls from them. I turned off my cellphone, took out my landline.”

 

“You sure they’re not gonna be frustrated with us? Plus, I feel like I’m being too much if I eat your food, drink your drinks--”

 

“Jack, they’re not gonna fire us because we went off the radar for an evening. We’re almost half of the crew, there’s no way they can pull heists without us.  Also, we’re literally billionaires. I’m not gonna cry over a few bucks. Like, really, you’re comparing yourself to, what, some diet coke, leftovers and sandwiches?”

 

Jack broke into a smile, holding back the air from leaving his mouth, thus making those dumb chuckles.

 

“Okay, okay, fair enough.” Jack grunted, pushing himself up while making sure Ryan’s jacket would not fall onto the sand. Who knows what would happen if it got dirty...worse than any medieval torture method, one could assume.

 

Ryan drove a more private car to the shore, the one he would use only in private escorts, so that the cops wouldn’t know any better. It was sleek, the windows were tinted, but it wasn’t expensive looking, or it’ll just be a target for broken windows and popped tires. The owner took up the driver’s seat, as Jack sat in the passenger’s.

 

“Do you like any particular radio station, bud? My treat,” Ryan offered, turning the key and therefore turning on the car.

 

“Not really. Hell, I’ve never driven my own vehicle enough to get through all of the radio stations, let alone pick a favorite.”

  
“Well, let’s start looking for one.”


End file.
